


I'm an Optimist (You're a Clean Slate, Baby)

by withthepilot



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's one of those girls you could easily fall in love with but you know in the back of your mind that it's you against every other hot-blooded creature in the world, so you might as well not bother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm an Optimist (You're a Clean Slate, Baby)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [screamlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamlet/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, screamlet! Sorry there's not more porn.
> 
> Title lifted from New Young Pony Club.

They do meet at a "Young Hollywood" party, that much is true. And she does wear those ratty sneakers. He keeps staring at them until she gives him a challenging look—a _well, what are you waiting for?_ look.

"Good shrimp," he says when he approaches. He holds up a half-eaten pink curl perched on a toothpick, wrapped in bacon. She gives him a curious, bemused smile that makes his throat go dry. Still, he keeps talking. "I think I saw you in something once. About a horse. It was good."

"Who was better? Me or the horse?"

He barks a laugh and a bit of bacon feels lodged in his throat.

"You were great." She's got to be seventeen, tops, he thinks. _Maybe_ eighteen. Way too young for the things he'd like to do after he takes off those dirty kicks. "You're gonna be famous in a minute."

She reaches down and grabs a pair of fancier shoes—silver pumps that probably pinch like hell. "I knew it; the horse was better."

Her makeup is good, he thinks as she walks away. Hell, everything is good. Especially the shoes.

*

"You know, I looked you up," she says at the next shindig. It's an after-party for a premiere or a release or a ceremony or something; he wasn't paying much attention. "And I watched _Dahmer_. You're a pretty creepy guy."

He smirks as he sips a beer—and thank fuck they actually have beer in this place. "You have no idea, Miss Johansson."

"Scarlett is fine, Mr. Renner." And she's right; she is. She's maturing, actually. He can see it in her face, how her features seem that much more defined than last time.

He swallows a too-large gulp. "What are you working on?"

"I just wrapped a movie in Tokyo with Bill Murray."

"Shit." He's still taking whatever bit part they throw at him, if he's lucky enough to be their target. Whoever _they_ are. "I told you it wouldn't take long for you."

"You wanna get out of here?" she asks. It feels abrupt, like a two-by-four to the side of his head—but in a good way. She holds up her cocktail. "I'm technically not old enough to be drinking this anyway."

"Oh, god, I don't want to know."

He attempts to lead her through the crowd by the small of her back. Then she reaches back and grabs his wrist and it's clear she's the one leading him.

*

The truth is, the first scene of that Tokyo movie brings back a lot of memories: Scarlett in her underwear, lounging on a hotel bed, looking bored in the way that beautiful women often do, as if no place in the world is quite fitting for them. He remembers it clearly, the way her skin felt against the bridge of his nose as he skimmed his way down her spine, the dips of her curves beneath his fingertips.

She's one of those girls you could easily fall in love with but you know in the back of your mind that it's you against every other hot-blooded creature in the world, so you might as well not bother.

They play cards in bed, which he finds sort of bizarre, what with the breathy sounds of her orgasm still ringing in his ears.

"Got any fours?" she asks.

"What?" he says, staring at her bare breasts.

She gives him a wry smile and flicks a card at him. "And here I thought you weren't the predictable type."

"I'm not," he says. "I'm the easily distracted type. And you're, uh…a nuisance."

"Eyes up here," she snaps. She smirks when he obeys. "We'll train you yet, Renner."

*

When she's dating someone, she lets him know. And they don't fuck because Scarlett is the loyal type and Jeremy appreciates that about her. Almost always, when they connect again a few months down the road, the other guy is old news and they can fall back into it.

"This time is different," she says, reading his mind. She's wearing a strapless dress and the plush, aubergine fabric of the restaurant booth looks all the more luxurious against her skin. He chases away any thoughts of tracing the slopes of her shoulders with his mouth. "It's Ryan Reynolds. He's a—"

"—young and handsome movie star," he fills in. "Wasn't he dating what's her name? The 'Ironic' singer?"

"Yeah." She laughs and pokes the tines of her fork into the flaky exterior of the salmon on her plate. "They just broke up."

"What a tangled web we weave. He breaks up with her, you get together with him, you break up with me…"

"I'm not _breaking up_ with you," she says emphatically. She's right, of course, so he doesn't correct her, even though he wants to. "It's just how it is. I like him, and…you know how I am."

_I should have done something_ , he thinks—is all he can think. The waiter comes to refill his wine glass and he nods, lets it happen.

"I know all about you," he says.

He can't help but feel a little victorious when she breaks eye contact first. It's hollow, but he'll take it.

*

He goes to make a movie in Jordan. It's simultaneously the best and worst experience of his life. But it's also a breakthrough, in so many ways.

They use Skype to get in touch. When Scarlett appears, it looks like she has the softest, most Barbara Walters special-like light radiating from her skin. 

"You look like shit," is the first thing she says.

"I got food poisoning," he says, chuckling. "But I'm on day three. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, finally."

"What, did you puke up all your internal organs? You're skin and bones."

"You say the nicest shit to me."

She smiles wryly. "It's just a movie, Renner. Don't make me worry about you."

"It's not," he says, a little more irritably.

"Well, I know," she says. "But seriously. Promise me you'll be careful."

"I am. I do."

It might be the forty-eight hours of vomiting and the ten or twelve pounds he's already lost, but when Jeremy thinks about it later, he realizes it's not just his own foul mood at work; something significant has shifted between them. At this point, he's not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing. His dick thinks it's a bad thing.

*

He visits her on the _Iron Man 2_ set and they end up at a picnic table on the main lot, eating lunch with Robert Downey, Jr. 

"I'm telling you," Robert says between noisy bites. " _The Hurt Locker_? Fucking incredible. You? Fucking incredible. My ass cheeks have never been clenched for quite that long in a single sitting."

Scarlett smothers a laugh into her palm and Jeremy tries not to choke on his sandwich. What's with these talented dreamboats, always making him choke?

"I told him at the very start that he was going to be famous," she says, putting her arm around Jeremy. "Didn't I, darling?"

He reaches up and squeezes her hand while it's perched on his shoulder. "No, I said that to you. You told me I was creepy."

"Creepy is good," Robert says, though he doesn't elaborate. He pauses mid-chew to look at them, seated on the opposite side of the table, and waves his fork between them. "Something has happened here. _Is_ happening? Definitely _has_ happened."

"I have no idea what you mean," Scarlett says. Then she kisses Jeremy's cheek, a hot little peck.

"Me neither," he says. He keeps his "resting face" on, the one she always teases him about. In this case, it's more like a poker face.

Robert's eyebrows shoot up and he looks back at his food, using his fork to flick pieces of pasta and veggies around the plate. "She's right; you're creepy. And I'm right; something has happened here. Promise that next time you'll let me watch."

Jeremy nods and runs his thumb over the smooth gold ring on her finger.

"Feel free to bring a friend," he says, just as Scarlett pulls her hand away.

Later, when he's getting a tour of the set, she pulls him aside and punches him in the shoulder. It hurts.

"Don't do that to me," she hisses.

"I'm not doing anything," he says, though what he should say is, _shit, I'm sorry_. He knows that.

"You are." She starts to walk away and glances back at him, just once. "I know all about you."

*

He takes that Marvel role, even if it is uncredited. Because she's right about him.

*

He reads about her separation in a magazine while he's sitting in a goddamn waiting room before a doctor's appointment. Not that he can blame her for not telling him; they haven't spoken in ages.

"You should've called me," he says when he calls her that night.

"Oh, yes. You're the first person I should have called. My good, supportive 'friend' Jeremy Renner. Who needs couples therapy when I have you?"

He rubs a hand over his eyes. He's guilty and he knows it. Even Franklin is giving him a judgy look from the other side of the room.

"I am your friend. I'm sorry I was an asshole to you, but no matter what, I _am_ your friend."

"We both know you're more than that," she says quietly. She puffs a shaky breath into the receiver on her end but quickly pulls it together. "It's fine. We just wanted different things. I know that sounds cliched and ridiculous, but it's true."

He swallows. "Scar, whatever it is that you want, you should have it."

"Yeah, well. That's easy for you to say." She laughs faintly and they let a minute of silence drag by. "Let's get a drink some time, okay?"

"Let's get six," he replies, and she laughs again.

*

"Shit, she really nailed you, didn't she?" Evans says. He leans his perfectly coiffed head close to check out the bruising along Jeremy's ribs.

"Getting out some frustrations, probably," he says. 

"Sexual frustrations?"

"Yeah, right. That sounds more like me." It hurts like a bitch when he laughs so he bites his lip.

Hemsworth—and goddamn, Jeremy _still_ can't tell which Chris is beefier—looks totally insane, leaning against the craft services table, ankles crossed and sipping a cup of coffee, still wearing his cape. 

"She can move," he remarks. "Which has got to be hard in that suit."

"I think we're all a little hard in our suits," Evans quips, grinning. Ruffalo flicks him on the back of his head as he walks by. "Hey!"

"Gentlemen, save your witty repartee for the press tour," Tom says, ambling over to get his own cup of coffee. "I'm sure the public is dying to hear Chris' sexist jokes and how many times he's farted in the Captain America suit."

"Twenty-eight and counting," Evans says, beaming.

"Number of times Evans has failed to get it up during sex," Scarlett says, suddenly appearing in her catsuit. "We're guessing what the number means, right? Do I win?"

Evans huffs at them. "What is this, beat up on Cap day? I represent _America_ , damn it."

"In all its beer pong-loving glory," Mark says.

Joss approaches and waves them all away. "Okay, recess is over, children. Mr. Whedon has to make a movie in between coffee breaks and fart jokes."

"Who watches movies anymore?" Tom says.

"What's a movie?" Hemsworth asks. His mouth is full of food that he somehow found and devoured in the last fifteen seconds.

Joss flails at them. "Begone, Jerky Boys of Asgard."

Scarlett smirks and turns to where Jeremy is still crouched on a bench. "You ready to get beat up again, Renner?" she asks, extending a hand. He takes it and lets her pull him up.

"Why else do you think I took this part?"

"You didn't know this would happen."

He shrugs and tries not to linger too long on the lines of her suit. "I was hoping."

*

"So, Jeremy, how hard was it not to hurt Scarlett at all?"

"We hurt each other," he clarifies, in response to the (inherently sexist) question. Scarlett shoots him a skeptical look.

"Did I?" she asks. "Did I really hurt you?"

"Yeah, you broke my heart."

"Awwww."

He doesn't think about the exchange again until the day is over and they're all drinking the aggravation of endless interviews away at the press junket's hotel bar. Jeremy lucked out, getting paired with Scarlett. All day, he's been easing back into their longstanding rapport—something truly special, which he'd almost forgotten was so good. He's about to get sucked into an ill-advised game of Quarters with Hemsworth, RDJ, Evans, and a bunch of Goldschläger shots, when Scarlett sidles up to him at the bar.

"So tell me more about how I broke your heart," she teases.

"You know all about it, sweetheart," he says, smiling easily.

Scarlett leans against the bar. "But I didn't, did I?" She looks so effortlessly beautiful, standing there in her blouse and blazer, and he almost expects to look down and find her wearing those dirty shoes again.

"Not intentionally," he admits.

He doesn't realize there's a room key in his pocket that doesn't belong to him until about fifteen minutes after she leaves. He twists the plastic card around and around in his palms during the seemingly endless elevator trip to her floor. 

When Jeremy finds the right door, she's standing at the opposite end of the suite, bare and breathtaking, save for a pair of gold heels. It's a new look for her but a truly excellent look. She's still full of surprises and every inch of him approves.

This time Scarlett says it aloud: "Well, what are you waiting for?"

He crosses the room before the last word has time to leave her lips.


End file.
